Waterlogged and Waiting For An Ambulance
by patster223
Summary: So now that Shawn was bleeding, half-drowned, and definitely contemplating his mortality, he had to wait for an ambulance with Lassiter? Talk about awkward. Guess he can't complain much though, considering it was Lassieface who saved his life and all.


**Characters:** Shawn, Lassiter, gen  
**Summary: **So now that Shawn was bleeding, half-drowned, and definitely contemplating his mortality, he had to wait for an ambulance with Lassiter? Talk about awkward. Guess he couldn't complain much though, considering Lassieface was the one who had saved his life.  
**A/N:** Thought it was time I post a few more of my psych fics over here too, so here's one of my more recent ones.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

You'd think the water in Santa Barbara would be warm.

Sure, it was the middle of night and well into autumn, but he lived in _California_ for crying out loud. Warm, sunny California, with an ocean that people swam in with some frequency.

But while you'd _think _the water in Santa Barbara would be warm, Shawn still found the wind knocked out of him as he landed in the bone-chilling water. And he meant bone-chilling quite literally, because that wound in his head was pretty severe as far as head wounds went.

Or at least it felt severe. It hurt like hell anyway.

It really wasn't a fair shot. He had been looking the other way at the time, and then he had felt the gun crack on his head.

And getting pistol whipped twice in the same year? Really?

Oh yeah, and then he had fallen in the water. He hadn't meant to do that, but he could only guess that it was an automatic response to fall over after your skull has been cracked with a gun. Who knew?

He had fallen into the water (and not even dramatically like in the movies. Nope, he had crumpled awkwardly and dropped in the water. Pistol whipping never did look quite as cool on TV. Hurt a lot more than you'd think too.). As soon as he had fallen in he found himself needing air.

His quest to get air wasn't going so well though. He was still seeing stars after that hit and moving wasn't much an option. Every time he tried to kick to the surface he only fueled his splitting headache. Not to mention his habit of wearing layers wasn't one he was grateful for right now as his clothes weighed him down.

Damn it! His head _hurt. _If he was glad that he had fallen into the water (and he most certainly wasn't), it was only because he might have felt like crying from the pain.

_Might. _He was no baby. But baby or not, it still hurt. A lot.

Opening his eyes (even though it stung. Why was he causing himself more pain again?), he saw that there was a small thread of red that had stained the water. It was quickly washed out by the current, but Shawn still felt the throb in his head double at the sight of it. Blood? He was no Gus, but he still didn't enjoy seeing the stuff come out of him.

He felt a strain in his lungs, which reminded him he should probably get to the surface and get some of that air stuff right about now. Yeah, great idea. If only it were that easy.

The stinging in his eyes had grown unbearable and he shut them. They still stung though. It was probably a molehill compared to his mountain of a head wound, but hey, he had just been pistol whipped. He had a right to complain.

His vision wasn't so hot right now either. Hello fuzzing vision? What was that all about? As much as Shawn loved overused clichés, his vision fading to black felt a _little _silly. Seriously, how overused was that expression? Why couldn't vision fade to green, or maybe orange? Or yellow with blue polka dots. That would be pretty cool.

So he was pretty close to dying (at least that's what it felt like. Despite his many emergency room visits he wasn't accustomed to near death experiences. But if he had one, he was pretty sure it would hurt as much as this.). Wasn't it about time for someone to rescue him? Though Lassiter and Juliet usually came before he got injured by the bad guy, he still wouldn't have minded someone coming to his rescue right now. In fact, he would very much appreciate it.

Shawn felt fear then. Could there really be no one coming? He had assumed that Lassie had been right on his tail…but then again, that's what assuming got you, he supposed (or at least that's what his dad told him. Damn it, his dad was right. If he ever survived this he would be sure _not _to point out that little revelation to his father.). He could really die now. Shawn wasn't so keen on the idea of dying. In fact, he would very much prefer to avoid it entirely.

Shawn opened his eyes again (hey, if he really was dying he could afford a little stinging in his eyes) to see a dark shadow over him. He wondered if it was death. As inappropriate as it was, Shawn had to smile to himself. He had met death (hopefully he would let Shawn touch his scythe). Wait until he told Gus.

As much as he hated it (along with his head which was throbbing like no tomorrow, his irritated eyes, and the lack of _any_ air in his lungs which had escalated from a strain to a burn that hurt a _lot_) his vision was fading to the painfully cliché black.

And he hadn't even looked cool while falling in the water. Just perfect.

/

For the love of everything holy, _why _did Spencer insist on jumping into every situation no matter how armed the bad guy was?

Honestly, the guy's job as a psychic detective (and Lassiter used that term in the loosest way possibly) was to get his feelings or visions or whatever crap he "saw", and report it to the police. That's it! Nowhere in the equation did it say that he was supposed to go after the men with weapons or use himself as bait.

No wonder Spencer's dad didn't have any hair left; being responsible for him as an adult was exhausting enough, Lassiter couldn't imagine the stress that must have been endured while raising him.

Like the little pain in the ass that he was, Spencer ran off right after he got some vision seeing where the perp was. What was Lassiter supposed to do, pull him back and tie him up? For God's sake, he wasn't his parent.

He found Spencer in the passenger seat of the car. From Spencer's expression he knew that there was no arguing with him; telling him to stay behind would only waste time. He had a drug dealer to arrest, and Spencer wasn't a priority at the moment.

Was it so wrong for him to want to catch the bad guy, to get him before he skipped town in his boat? Was it wrong, even if meant dragging Spencer along, knowing either way he would get into some sort of trouble? All he wanted to do was to do his job and catch the criminal.

But, as much as he sometimes disliked it, his job also happened to be protecting civilians like Spencer. That part of his duty_ should_ have been taken care of once he called backup and ordered Spencer to _STAY IN THE CAR_.

Or rather, it would have been taken cared of if it had been anyone else but Spencer.

Lassiter almost groaned when he saw Spencer run out ahead of him and look inside the boat.

"Spencer, what the hell do you think you're doing?" he whispered, inching towards the psychic while keeping his weapon out. Shawn looked up from examining the boat and waved to Lassiter, as if this were all a little game designed solely for his benefit.

It was this kind of behavior that had given Lassiter the habit of grinding his teeth at blamed himself for what happened next (and Spencer too, because he had been the idiot who had gotten them into this situation in the first place). But mostly himself because even though he didn't like the guy, Lassiter knew it was his duty to protect him.

He had been a little too focused on walking towards Spencer and keeping his eye on him so that he didn't run off anywhere. He had seen the man coming from the opposite end of the dock too late to do more than shout, "Hold it!" and cock his gun before the man had pistol whipped Spencer.

Without thinking twice, Lassiter shot the man twice; once in the shoulder, once in the leg. Not feeling the usual rush he got when he discharged his weapon, he ran over to the edge of the dock. Before he had even run a few feet, Spencer fell limp into the water. Oh for the love of…

Going against his initial instinct to dive in right after Spencer, Lassiter pulled out his phone and dialed for an ambulance. He quickly rattled off his location to the person on the other end of the line and looked back at the perp who was groaning in pain on the ground. He grimaced and fought the urge to slap the cuffs on the coldhearted son of a bitch. He had done the first part of his duty, the criminal wasn't going anywhere. Now he had to save the civilian.

Lassiter threw his cell phone aside and dove into the water. If he were being honest he would know that he was only an adequate swimmer and that he was no lifeguard, but the lack of any other personnel in the area was more than a good excuse to completely soak his favorite jacket to save Spencer's ass.

Coming up for air and staying afloat in the deep harbor, all the while searching for Spencer somewhere in the water at night wasn't as easy as it might look. Not to mention his shoes were both weighing him down and getting ruined. At least he hadn't worn his casual gentlemen's shoe today.

Diving down, he was unable to find Spencer in the water. Damn it, he was running out of time. And Spencer hadn't come up for air yet…

Surfacing for air, Lassiter grit his teeth. Every fact he knew about the amount time a person can remain underwater without air came to mind and he slapped his hand down on the water in frustration. Failing Spencer wasn't an option now. Every protocol he had ever memorized be damned, if Spencer came through this he would _find _an excuse to shoot him for putting him in this situation. And to think he had thought Goochburg was a lot to handle as a partner – it was a miracle Guster was able to keep this guy alive every day.

Going underwater again, he opened his eyes and saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw that it was blood coming from none other than Spencer. He stifled his feeling of relief as he remembered that Spencer wasn't saved yet. Swimming over to the psychic and picking him up, Lassiter kicked to the surface.

As soon as Spencer's head came to the surface he began choking and coughing. "Keep breathing or I'll handcuff you to your bike and never let you work a case again," he ordered, beginning to tow Spencer back to the dock. Thank God it wasn't a long swim or Spencer might not have made it.

"Threats, Lassie?" Spencer coughed. "I'm an injured man; that hurts my feelings." Instead of coming off as his usual smart-ass self, his comment was half-hearted. Lassiter swam faster and pulled them both on top of the dock.

Spencer immediately rolled onto his back and rested there with his eyes close. Lassiter got his first real look at him since he had fallen off the dock and didn't like what he saw. Spencer was bleeding heavily from where the drug dealer pistol whipped him on the forehead. Soaking up the blood with his already ruined jacket, Lassiter wasn't too worried. Though Spencer was probably in a hell of a lot of pain judging from his groaning and whimpering, he'd live to whine about his wound to Guster and O'Hara as soon as he got him admitted into a hospital.

No, the thing that worried Lassiter was the fact that Spencer was shivering like it was another ice age. Lassiter felt his arm and his eyes widened – it was as cold as ice. When Spencer opened his eyes Lassiter saw that they looked slightly glazed over.

"Spencer," he muttered angrily, quickly taking off his jacket and putting it over him. "What the hell were you thinking going out there without a weapon of any sorts?"

"Your j-jacket? Lassie, I k-knew you c-cared," Spencer said with chattering teeth, sans the smug grin that usually accompanied his joking comments. Instead, his mouth was a thin line and his face looked blank.

"Please," Lassiter said, more than worried about how much the psychic was shivering. "I just happen to always be the one who has to save your ass after you get pistol whipped."

"Guess that's j-just how it w-works out," Spencer said, shivering violently, but seeming slightly better with the jacket covering his arms from the chilly breeze. He was breathing heavily and didn't seem to see Lassiter. He closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

"What?" Lassiter said, looking for the ambulance and thinking that it should have been there minutes ago. What were the paramedics over at Santa Barbara Regional Hospital doing, taking a coffee break? He would definitely have some choice words for them once they arrived.

"It's just…it wasn't like this the last time I got pistol whipped," Spencer said, his voice lacking its normal droll tone. "This time it hurt…a lot." His eyes widened an almost imperceptible amount. "I almost died…"

Lassiter had no idea how to respond in this kind of situation. He could handle saving a pistol whipped co-worker and handle shooting a drug dealer, but he didn't know quite how to handle seeing Spencer in shock.

It wasn't that he hadn't seen shock before, he had. But this time it was different. Probably because Spencer acted like such an ass all the time that it was different seeing him take anything seriously. Not to mention he was pretty sure Spencer was right when he said that he had almost died. Spencer had been close to death. It was an unsettling thought.

But Lassiter wouldn't let any officer of the force go down while he was there, and that included Spencer. So there was no way that would have happened. He watched the normally childlike psychic sit there shivering in his coat.

"That's what happens when you don't wait for backup," Lassiter said finally. "And though I don't doubt that your antics have gotten you and Guster almost killed on more than one occasion, I'll inform you that getting hurt comes with this line of work. So get used to it, but don't make a habit of it. Got it, Spencer?"

Spencer just sat there breathing for a few seconds. Then he turned to Lassiter and plastered on a grin. "Do you use that speech on every rookie, Lass?"

"For once in your life just shut up," Lassiter said closing his eyes out of exhaustion. He could hear the sirens in the distance and knew his job as babysitter was almost over.

At least Spencer had finally piped down and stopped talking. Though there was no way it would last long, Lassiter decided to cherish it.

Because God knows how much Spencer will be blabbing about how being pistol whipped was just like the movies.

/

He woke up coughing his lungs out. Dear God, had he swallowed the whole ocean while down there? How the hell Aquaman spent so much time in the ocean, Shawn would never know. But then again, he could breathe underwater, so that would probably make it a lot easier.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw that Lassiter was towing him back to the dock. So he _had_ been rescued in time. Wait, did that make him the damsel in distress and Lassiter his handsome prince? Because as much as Shawn did love a damsel in distress, he didn't think much of being one. Or of having Lassiter for a prince for that matter…

Each cough hurt deep in his chest and burned his lungs, but it was also instant relief to be able to breathe again. Spitting up a good amount of water, he gasped for air, filling his lungs with it. Oh God. He had almost died.

It hit him then. Though he had been somewhat delirious underwater (considering he had actually thought Lassie was death. Though the detective would probably love to kill him on a daily basis, Shawn thought that was a pretty embarrassing mix up. He would be sure to keep that one to himself.) his head was crystal clear now, and he knew exactly how close he had come to drowning. Feeling distant from the exchange he and Lassie were having, Shawn felt that same fear that he had experienced while underwater. His breathing was quick and his headache was at its peak in terms of pain. Lassiter really should have left him to die. It would have hurt less than this anyway, and he would be a ghost or something cool right now instead of a half dead fake psychic.

He felt himself be pushed onto the dock and he lay on the ground, his eyes closing. Holy crap it was cold out. Okay, how many times did he need to say this: he lived in _Santa Barbara. _Warm. Sunny. _Not _incredibly cold and breezy weather that left him shivering violently and made his teeth chatter so hard that they hurt. Well add them to the list of body parts in pain, because at the moment it was a big list.

And then put his head at the top of the list as soon as Lassiter put pressure against his head wound. Ow, ow, _ow! _He wondered if the head detective was secretly taking joy out of putting him in pain, because that freaking _hurt. _

The pressure was soon off his head and Shawn opened his eyes again in time to see Lassiter put his jacket over him. Knowing Lassiter had just said something but not quite down to earth enough to hear what he had said Shawn made some sarcastic comment about Lassiter caring about him. He didn't take any notice of what he was saying, the comment was just automatic. Shawn was a little too busy shivering under the makeshift blanket to pay attention to what was being said. Holy crap it was cold. At least it was slightly warmer under the jacket. Warm enough at least so that he wouldn't die of hypothermia.

"Please," Lassiter said, sounding irritated but also slightly worried. "I just happen to always be the one who has to save your ass after you get pistol whipped."

Shawn noticed that Lassiter actually looked concerned for his well being, but didn't quite register it. God he was cold. A large shudder passed through him with the breeze. "Guess that's j-just how it w-works out."

Because really, like he _wanted_ Lassiter to be the one to save him? Yeah, Shawn knew Lassiter was highly capable of saving him and he respected the tall Irishman, but he still wasn't the first on Shawn's call list if anything ever happened to him.

He was pretty sure he was in shock. Or at least, it felt like that. He was finding it hard to concentrate on Lassiter or anything else, except the fact that he was shivering and that his head hurt. It was so easy to tune it all out and just lay there. Shawn's eyes almost closed shut as he took another deep breath. He felt so tired.

Feeling Lassiter's eyes on him, Shawn made himself look up and meet the worried eyes of the head detective. Shawn could read the concern, annoyance and exasperation in his eyes. He almost smiled. Just wait until he got to tell everyone how worried Lassie was tomorrow. He always knew that Lassie liked him. After all, he did save his swallowed. He had never come this close to dying before. Sure, he'd had plenty of guns shoved in his face and even gotten pistol whipped on a separate occasion. But it had never been like this. He had never come _that _close to death, not even when Drimmer had decided to kill him and Lassiter. And Shawn hadn't ever needed his life saved before. To tell the truth, the idea had never crossed his mind. Despite the dangers of private investigating, he had never actually considered getting hurt. Next time it could be worse. He could be injured even more badly. Or it could be Gus.

Shawn grimaced. "What about next time?" he muttered to himself.

"What?" Lassiter asked, and Shawn realized he had accidently said it out loud.

"It's just…it wasn't like this the last time I got pistol whipped," Shawn said slowly. This time he had been really hurt, badly. He had been drowned and bleeding before Lassiter saved him.

He remembered the amount of pain that he had felt, that he _still _felt thank you very much. "This time it hurt…a lot," he said.

"I almost died…" he said, still barely believing it.

It was scary.

There you had it, Shawn Spencer, Mr. Smartass, was afraid. Afraid of having almost died, afraid of dying, and afraid of getting Gus or someone else killed along with him. It was a frightening thought, one that scared the crap out of him. It brought back memories of his mom strapped to a bomb and of a pistol being put to Gus' head, things that were all his fault.

It was a while before Lassiter spoke. "That's what happens when you don't wait for backup."

Shawn almost snorted. He had heard the speech from his dad a million times, he didn't need it from Lassieface too.

But after another pause, Lassiter spoke up again. Shawn noticed something in his tone that made him pay attention. It was a sort of determination, a confidence of someone who had been there, on the other side of this conversation.

"And though I don't doubt that your antics have gotten you and Guster hurt on more than one occasion, I'll inform you that getting injured comes with this line of work," Lassiter said slowly so that Shawn could hear every word. Shawn chuckled at Lassiter guessing his and Gus' emergency room status so easily. But also, knew that the second part of what he was saying was true. Policemen and women got injured. It happened. Same with private investigators, and even fake psychic detectives.

Maybe _especially_ fake psychic detectives since he had such a talent (his dad would call it a curse) for getting himself into such…interesting situations.

Lassiter went on, "So get used to it, but don't make a habit of it. Got it, Spencer?"

He actually did get it, oddly enough. Yeah, he had almost died. But maybe it was just something you were supposed to forget about and move on from and all that. _Besides, _Shawn thought, _"All fun and games until someone gets hurt," had never really been my philosophy._

Hearing the sirens, Shawn actually grinned. Who knew Lassieface actually had it in him to comfort someone? His eyes were beginning to close. He was pretty sure it was time for a night in a hospital so he could prepare for the lecture he was sure to receive the next day from Gus and his dad. But he had time for a parting comment for his 'knight in shining armor'.

"Do you use that speech on every rookie, Lass?" he said with a grin.

Looking exhausted already from having to deal with Shawn all by himself, Lassiter said, "For once in your life just shut up."

And for once Shawn was more than happy to oblige.


End file.
